Page 11 of Weatherman

The comb gently glided through Agatha’s freshly colored strands before she spoke again. “I’m so glad you moved here. Such a blessing. My older brother is single. His name is Robert, but we call him Bobby. Brother Bobby, to be exact. He’s the new preacher over to the big church on First Street. I’ll introduce you to him sometime soon. What church did you grow up in?”

I hesitated. Yeah, I was aware of religion, Jesus, and all that stuff, but I’d never really gotten into that scene. “I didn’t grow up in a church.”

I should have lied. Agatha grabbed onto that statement like a starving man to a sandwich.

“Well, that settles it. I’m bringing Bobby to see you next week. He’ll probably invite you to his church, and you can watchhim preach. When he’s up in the pulpit, he needs a proper haircut ’stead of them whack jobs he gets from the barbershop.”

My stomach danced with trepidation. The last thing I wanted right now was to meet men. Any man. I just got my life on track and wasn’t planning to get off it. Didn’t I just decide I was okay with being single?

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start dating.”

“Are you divorced?”

An unexpected rush of emotion joined the chorus line kicking in my gut. This wasn’t the first time someone made assumptions about my past. I had no intention of explaining anything, and I kept most of my thoughts to myself. It was easier to let people guess the worst—and in truth, they weren’t that far off. “He died.”

I could barely get the words out.

Agatha thankfully let it go. “I’m so sorry for your loss. How long ago?”

“This past winter.”

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry. My deepest condolences.” She said it with such sincerity, I believed her.

Whether that meant she gave up on her brother and me or not was a crapshoot, but I needed to get my head under control. I smiled and faked my way into a good attitude. “Thank you. Now, let’s get this party started.”

I picked up my scissors and started shaping.

The salon kept buzzing all day. Appointments, walk-ins, the latest gossip—it all flowed around me as I worked. These women were involved in so much, and every one of them had stories to tell about life, love, and family. Many times, I considered myself an outsider looking in, but it was nice to be somewhat included in this extended group.

Molly came by with bags of zucchini. “Here, y’all. Grab as much as you want, ’cause I’ll have more tomorrow. Cutter donelost his mind plantin’ that much. We got all sorts of squash coming out our ears. Anyone want tomatoes or cucumbers for picklin’? Them vines is still producing like crazy.”

A few women poked through the bags. Another one said something about pumpkins and cushaw abundance to come. I had no idea what a cushaw was, but apparently it was a popular item here.

Molly looked around and frowned. “Where’s Kimmie?”

Tambre came from the back with a concerned expression on her face. “I’m not sure. She was supposed to be here a half hour ago and hasn’t called.”

I swept up my station and kept my head down, hoping they wouldn’t ask me directly about my roommate. She was going out more and more during the week, staying out late and coming home in the wee hours of the morning. It bothered me, as I had firsthand knowledge of the path she was on and what the end of it held, but I didn’t have the power to stop her.

Kimmie’s timing radar must have been on. She ran into the salon, out of breath and disheveled. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I got caught in a tangle on the highway. Damn construction zone!”

Molly laughed. “No worries, girl. Let’s get started, ’cause I got a time limit.”

Tambre’s smile of relief didn’t quite reach her eyes.

CHAPTER 7

The musicin his earbuds didn’t cover the sounds coming from the bathroom. Weatherman dressed for work and gritted his teeth as his mom was violently sick. She vomited from anything she tried to put in her stomach. Even drinking a glass of water brought it on.

Every.

Fucking.

Treatment.

He hated it. Hated that he could do nothing about it but listen to his mother deal with this painful routine. Her reactions were so bad, the doctors gave her extended breaks between infusions, but that only seemed to increase the suffering.

“Mom, you need me?” he called out as he lifted the pot from the stove and poured the heated water into a glass pitcher filled with ginger tea bags.

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